A Theory of Expanded Love

by Hicks, Caitlin;

  One of the little Feeneys, maybe as old as the twins, came running up to Christopher. Boy was he cute. Another blonde.

  “Just give me some time to think about this.” The little Feeney aimed himself at Christopher’s legs for a big hug. Christopher leaned down and hugged him back.

  “Hey, buddy! How was school?” The kid grinned up at his brother.

  “I got a star! In spelling!”

  “A star! Wow. Hey, buddy, give me a minute. I’ll be right in.” He turned his brother by the shoulders and aimed him at the house.

  “I have to help her,” I said as the little guy turned and ran.

  “Well, just sit on it for now,” Christopher said forcefully. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Your baby is going to be born any day now. There isn’t much time for thinking.” I knew I was pressing him hard.

  He stopped moving, staring at something over my shoulder. His face changed as a thought occurred to him. He turned to me.

  “How do we know it’s my baby?” he said, like suddenly he had this idea.

  “Clara said it was your baby. She said it doesn’t take much. You would know about that.”

  “What’s the proof?” he asked me.

  “What’s the proof?”

  “Yeah,” he said, a little calmer now. “Can you prove that I’m the father?”

  •••

  Can you prove I’m the father? I just couldn’t get it out of my head. Can you prove I’m the father?! All the way home, I didn’t see anything but the scuffed toe of my black and white saddle shoes. Stinkin’ diaper! A big black beetle with a shiny back had the misfortune of strolling across the sidewalk in my path at the very moment I came marching and mumbling insults to Christopher Feeney. I immediately stomped on it, hearing the crack and pop of its magnificent back as its insides smeared the soles of my shoes. Clara is not a liar! I wiped my shoes on the short, dry grass, but it didn’t satisfy me. When I saw the pavement smeared with insect legs, I stomped and pounded it until my foot throbbed. You don’t even care about her! I pressed the ball of my foot into the sidewalk and twisted at the ankle, embedding the black legs onto the cement. Coward! I wanted to flatten Christopher Feeney so flat. Then I remembered him sitting up there on the altar, like he was part of what we were striving to be. I wish I had spit at him.

  I had to tell someone. When I got to Madcap’s room, suddenly I remembered that Clara swore us to secrecy about Christopher Feeney being the dad. Clara made us promise. I was such a blabbermouth! How could I say anything to Madcap now? Gaaaaaa! I paced around outside the door.

  “Madcap,” I said forcefully, bursting into her room. She was sitting on her bed, reading under the skylight. She didn’t even look up.

  “Not now, Annie, I’ve got to finish this paper.”

  “Christopher Feeney wants us to prove he’s the father of Clara’s baby.” Oh, my God, I’m telling her!

  “What? How do you know?”

  “I had to tell him.” She sat up and looked at me like How could you?

  “You did not!”

  “Clara needs help to keep her baby. He’s the obvious one to help, isn’t he? Isn’t he supposed to be responsible for that baby?”

  “You weren’t supposed to say anything!”

  “I know.”

  “Now the word is out.”

  “What do you mean? I only told him.”

  “He can tell anyone he wants that Clara is pregnant, and he’s not the father. It takes the heat off him.”

  Suddenly I remembered about The Hands. I don’t know why. Mostly in the daytime, I forget all about it. I’ve tried telling Wanda. But it’s not the kind of thing you can just “mention.” Here it was just Madcap and me, alone in her room. I wanted so much to tell her. But the thought of lying in my own bed sound asleep with my pajama top pulled up, I could feel the energy being pulled right out of me, like the air in a balloon zipping out that little hole with that sucking sound. I slowed right down; a heaviness settled in the pit of my stomach.

  Where was God anyway? And all the saints we pray to all the time. And the Blessed Mother! Where was she? How could they ignore The Hands? How could they ignore Christopher Feeney being the dad?

  In my mind I was yelling at top volume.

  That was better. If I just concentrated on that, I could feel a rage sneaking back into me. I needed the anger. It made me determined.

  “I have to tell you something.” I sat down on Madcap’s bed by her feet, like I wasn’t going to move any time soon.

  “Aaron and I are going out to a Beach Boys’ concert,” she said. “Can you cover for me?” It was a weeknight, and we weren’t allowed to go out. “I’ll be studying up here after the rosary.” She emphasized the word studying. “Maybe you can distract them if anyone gets too close? And let me in when I get home.”

  “You have to listen.”

  “What?”

  “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

  “What, Annie?” she said, kicking her leg impatiently.

  “To ask you about, I mean.”

  “What, Annie? What? Ask me.” Her impatient manner reminded me of Mother the night after Dominic got lost at Disneyland when I came to tell her about The Hands. Madcap stared at her book, her finger twirling a strand of hair pulled out from the top of her head. She was only paying attention to me in the most distracted way. I changed the subject, without her even knowing.

  “Clara’s baby’s almost due.” I paused. “They’re gonna force her to sign the papers, and she’ll have to give it up.”

  “They probably will. It’s what they do in cases like this.”

  “Don’t you care?”

  “Of course I care! But what can we do?”

  •••

  That night I decided to set a trap for whoever it was, before going to bed.The only way to stop him was to catch him and embarrass him when everybody else finds out. I turned the metal wastepaper basket upside down in front of the door and closed the door tightly. I tucked my covers snugly across the mattress and then lay down next to the bed with some clothes folded up for a pillow. I figured, when he opens the door, the metal trash can will make a sound and when he gets to my bed, he’s gonna have to yank back the covers. So I’m pretty sure I will wake up.

  The next thing I knew, I was gradually aware of a sound at the window, a soft knock at the pane. I hopped up from the floor, tapped the pane, and waved at Madcap through the window. I pushed the metal wastepaper basket aside as I went to the laundry room to unhook the metal latch for her. She winked at me and tiptoed upstairs.

  But once she was up in her room, I heard footsteps. Creaking down the stairs. I got up from my place on the floor as quietly as I could and climbed up on the upside down basket. I crouched in the dark, balancing on the bucket beside the door. My heart was flying around inside my chest.

  The door slowly opened. Gee, he sure was quiet. It was almost pitch black, but I could see his shadowy shape next to my bed. I waited, just to see what he would do. He tried to pull the covers back, but they were pretty tight, so he had to rip at them. I leapt out at him from behind. My weight and the surprise of it pushed him over onto my bed, but both of us immediately tumbled off. He was much heavier than I had anticipated, and when I got close to his head, I understood why.

  It was John-the-Blimp! My mouth fell open. Blimp?

  “Annie?” he said. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I can recognize that voice even if he only whispers one word. John? Really? All along I had imagined someone I didn’t know. But it really was my own brother. Then I had a thought that halted me in my tracks. O my God, maybe that’s why Jesus hasn’t been answering my prayers! John is an altar boy! Until recently, a priest in training. He’s probably spent more time in church than I have! He’s got more Saint points, and one day, he could become a priest. I tried to grasp it. God was trying to get his attention.

  It was so unfair! But I was on top of Blimp, squeezing my legs around him as tightl
y as I could. I grabbed his ear and twisted.

  “What are you doing in my room, Blimp? Get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back!” I had never said hell before in my whole life. My brother was many pounds heavier than I was. He sat up and I fell off with a thud onto the floor.

  “Get out of my bedroom! Don’t you ever come in here again!” Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I heard Rosie and Jeannie rustling awake as John turned towards the door. I tore after him.

  “I’ll get you!” I yelled at him with all my might as he rounded the corner to take the stairs. I managed to grab him around the waist, but I couldn’t pull him down. At the bottom of the stairs, we both flailed and fumbled at each other, but he was bigger than me, and one swing of his arm flattened me to the ground. I got up again, racing up after him two steps at a time. At the top, I tackled his feet again and he went down. He kicked wildly, smashing my chin, then scrambled up into his room, slamming the door. I pounded on it and pounded on it. “What were you doing in my bedroom?!” I was screaming as loudly as I could. I wanted to wake up the dead.

  Things began to come to life all over the house.

  Chapter 30

  perfectly well

  December 6 – Dear Blessed Mother, Here’s the question. Where have you been?! I’m under siege here. Last night I found out who had been coming into my room at night and feeling me up. If you didn’t already know, you’d never believe who. The problem is, he got out of it. He said he heard a noise, and then I mistook him for a robber. (!!!) “No wonder I was freaked out,” he said. He sounded so sincere, like he was telling the truth. Like he was trying to protect me. He really poured it on, and guess who Mother and Daddy wanted to believe? Then, I suppose logically, I got in trouble for waking everybody up. “You’re so dramatic, Annie, now go back to bed.” You know what? I DON’T CARE! If he comes back in, I’ll bite his hands off.

  The next day was Friday, December 6th. Only one more school day. My chin was swollen and bruised, but I already knew the bus schedule up to Ventura. I passed Teresa Feeney in the yard before the first bell. It was weird. She had been so friendly. But it was right back to no eye contact, Teresa floating by like she was on display, haughty and perfect.

  I watched the hands of the clock above the door before recess, swinging my crossed legs under my desk. Wanda crowded me when the class was dismissed.

  “Annie! C’mere.” I followed her out of the classroom to a corner of the schoolyard where the two chain-link fences met. There was a game of kickball going on in front of us, so at first I had a hard time understanding what she said. There was so much screaming and cheering going on. I could tell something was wrong because Wanda was biting the skin on her hands.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Clara?” she asked, like she was offended. “I’m your best friend.” She was gnawing on her gun finger, making bite marks.

  “Why didn’t you invite me to go to Sew Easy with Teresa Feeney?”

  “I called you. Buddy answered the phone. Obviously he didn’t give you the message.”

  “What about Clara?” I asked, knowing perfectly well.

  “You know,” she said.

  “What about Clara, Wanda?” She was irritating me, insisting. Like she knew. She took her finger out of her mouth.

  “Annie! You know all about Clara! She’s your sister. She’s not on a retreat, she’s pregnant.” I stared at her as the forbidden words came out of her mouth. I never told Wanda about Clara because it had been really important that no one else knew anything about Clara’s pregnancy. Now, Wanda was whispering about it to me. In the schoolyard! There was only one person who could have let the word out.

  “Who told you?” I asked her.

  “You told Teresa before you told me! I was at her house yesterday after you came to visit. That’s all we talked about.” Now Wanda started on the inside tips of all her fingers. She bit hard.

  “I never told Teresa!” I protested, but my mind was racing all over the place. The only person who could have told Teresa was her own brother, Christopher. Madcap was right; he was already blabbering.

  “Teresa said you told her,” Wanda repeated, disappointed, like our friendship was on the line. “Why didn’t you tell me first?” She was biting the plump flesh on the back of her thumb.

  “I would have told you first, but we had to keep it a secret. Really, Wanda. An absolute secret. So Clara could come back to school. Don’t be upset. It was Clara’s reputation I was trying to preserve.”

  “So you thought I couldn’t keep a secret?!” Wanda yelled at me. “You thought Teresa could keep a secret? Well, let me tell you this Annie Shea, your sister’s reputation is ruined. Teresa and I were talking about it. She said there are three guys who could be the father.” I could feel myself getting hot.

  “You listen to me, Wanda Nowakowski!” I yelled at her. “I did not tell Teresa Feeney. I told Christopher Feeney, because he’s the father.”

  “Christopher Feeney?” she said, completely taken aback. She looked down at her feet, recovering. “Well, there’s some other story going around the school then. Everyone is whispering about it.” Wanda turned into the game of kickball, almost getting hit by the ball that had just been liberated by Todd Zimmerman’s shoe.

  “Come back here, Wanda Nowakowski!” As I saw her run away from me, her ducktail looked sassy, like it was making fun of me. So I charged her, grabbing her around the waist and toppling her to the ground. We rolled over each other, scraping bare skin against concrete; I couldn’t hurt her enough. Wanda is heavier, but I was madder so I socked her a few times, once in the back and once in the arm, and I got hit, too, and I bit her and scraped her with my fingernails and she had me pinned down and we heard the voices around us and finally Sister Everista grabbed me by the back of my shirt collar and yanked me off of Wanda just as I was about to punch her in the face.

  “Girls!” she said in a gravelly voice and I thought, Yeah, we’re girls. So what of it?

  Chapter 31

  every small creature

  Dear Blessed Mother. So I guess you’ve decided not to get involved.

  Wanda and I got sent to the Principal’s office, but for once, I didn’t cooperate. I didn’t tell them anything about why we were fighting; it was none of their business. We were both crying and neither of us wanted to make it any worse. By the time we were sent home, it was already noon.

  I usually walk home from school, and by the time I opened the back door, it was quiet in the house. Everyone was at school, and the stillness gave the afternoon a sad quality. I listened to the sounds of the day that I normally don’t hear at all: a dishwasher sloshing in the kitchen in the distance, a bird fluttering around outside my window on the branches of the bougainvillea. Jude and the twins must have been napping in their beds.

  I tiptoed down the hall. Mother was having her nap. Either that or she just didn’t get up this morning at all. I peeked through her door. The room was dark. I could hear her breathing. So I got my $11.65 from my top drawer and my heavy sweater and quietly went up the steps, straight into Paul’s room. Because I was his PX last year, I knew where he kept everything, and I knew right where the $26 probably was. I hoped he hadn’t spent it yet. I was right. It was in the corner of his bookshelf behind some science fiction paperbacks, in a wooden box with some keys. The bills were stiff and new, folded up. I counted it and left $1 for his contribution to the sale of the Ambassador. I had never stolen anything before in my life. But at the same time, it was my money. Daddy made the wrong decision giving it to Paul. Daddy made the wrong decision banning Clara to the convent. Wanda’s dad wanted to buy the car from me. Wanda used to be my best friend. Everything was totally out of control. I was going to take that money for Clara and no one was going to stop me. I stuffed it into my pocket. Maybe I was on the path to sin, and maybe Daddy was going to belt the living daylights out of me, but I didn’t care. The other path just seemed wrong to me. Wrong, wrong, wrong. In every way.

  I went back t
o Mother’s room one last time. Not that I wanted to tell her where I was going. I wanted to return the photograph of her and the disappeared baby, and I just wanted to know how she could do it, going along with Daddy about keeping Clara up at the Mission. Clara didn’t want to be up there, and they were forcing her. I peeked in. Mother was sitting at the side of her bed, staring at the floor.

  “I’m getting up,” she said, as if she were talking to Daddy. “I’ll be right out to get going on the dinner. Just give me a minute here.”

  “Mom?” I said. “It’s Annie. I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to ask you a question.” She didn’t answer me. “Just one question,” I said.

  “I have a migraine, Annie,” she said, unmoved.

  “Mom, what happened to your first baby?” What was I doing? How could my voice be forming these words? “The one that disappeared?” I reached my hand out to her with the photograph. “You dropped this picture of you in the hospital holding a baby. At Cardinal Stefanucci’s funeral when your missal fell apart.”

  Mother looked over at me quickly. My hand was still stretched towards her. She grabbed the photograph out of my hand and looked deeply into it like she was trying to read the fine print. She took a breath in, and my heart beat fast, like a hamster on the wheel. Immediately, I wished I hadn’t said anything.

  “Leave me alone,” she said in a clipped tone, straightening up. I heard the way she said that. It twisted something inside me. I pressed her further.

  “I just don’t see how you can make Clara stay up there.”

  But Mother was ignoring me. Her head was bent over the photograph, like she was the only person in the universe. This was one of the things that Mother did. She turned the other way, like I wasn’t even there. She was so practiced at this, and I was so tired of it. She was deliberately not hearing me! I knew she heard me, I knew she was ignoring me, and I felt like screaming my head off.